


Turning Over

by hossgal



Category: Cadfael Chronicles - Ellis Peters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-24
Updated: 2006-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:17:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1626296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hossgal/pseuds/hossgal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cadfield has a visitor to the garden who is persistent with his questions.  No spoilers. 958 words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning Over

**Author's Note:**

> A short stocking stuffer for kezya, who asked for Cadfael and Hugh solving a mystery. Alas, I could only provide the start, and none of the actual solving.
> 
> Written for kezya

 

 

It was five days past the feast of Christ the King, and just at nooning, and Brother Cadfael was laboring in the apothecary garden when he felt a shadow move between him and the sun. Cadfael was at that moment knee deep in an earthen trench, excavated to the end of turning over the plot which had held last summer's basil and did not look up.

"Aren't you to be at sext?"

Cadfael did not turn about at the sound of the voice, only paused a moment in his spading, and then went on, heaving the dirt up and over with a grunt. "I have disposition," he said, setting his foot on the blade and shoving the spade deep in the dirt. Not frozen, not yet, but another night like the last, and it would be. "Besides, I was expecting company."

"Ah." Another spade of rich loam swung out of the trench and joined the long pile just beside the feverfew. "Have you not an assistant, for doing such tasks as are not suited to a man of your advanced years and wisdom?"

"I do," Cadfael assured the voice. If he glanced out of the side of his eyes, he could see worn boots at the edge of the herb garden, well away from the verge of rue. "However," he admitted, "I have sent the boy to sext. It is important for the young to be in the midst of upright, just, and holy men, that they may mold themselves on," and here Cadfael paused, lifting another load of loam. "On such saints of modesty and faithful devotion. And, as I said, I was expecting company."

"Company? Royal or angelic?" The owner of the voice was vastly amused, but whether at the sight of Cadfael, still toiling away in the frosty air, or at his own wit, could not be readily determined.

"All of these questions!" cried Cadfael. "Have you come at some dark behest, then, set to mar my meditations with inquiry after inquiry, like some Phariseen advocate?"

"No such thing!" The voice was appalled. "Pharisee I may be, but no advocate! I only ask which sort of company you anticipated, so that I might know what greeting to bestow, when your visitors should arrive!"

"Ah. A matter of etiquette. I see that I was mistaken." Cadfael unwound his scarf from about his neck. Despite the cool air, the sun was very bright, and that conspired with the herb-master's exertions to make him quite warm.

"Well?"

Cadfael stabbed the spade into the earth again. "Well?"

"You have not answered the question - what is the nature of the company you look to arrive?"

"Your persistence belies your denial of the office of advocate," Cadfael observed, tossing the spadeful out of the trench. Two more such and he would be done with this section.

"And your avoidance of answering might be taken by some to cover your confusion as to the answer."

"Neither, then, if you must know." Cadfael had to stab twice to put the spade at the proper depth. "And it is due to that - that my visitor would be neither of heaven nor appointed by such - that I sent the boy away. For he is, as I said," another grunt came as Cadfael flung out dirt, an edge of the spray laying across the worn boots. "He is an impressionable lad, and should not be exposed to those of devious and impulsive natures; nor to those with excessive experience with the darker temptations of humanity."

"Do you not fear for your own soul?"

"Why, no, because I am far too old to be deceived by mortal cunning and duplicity. And my own experiences have proven darker than the boy need know, and yet I have protected him from that knowledge."

"So there are limits to the deviousness of your visitor, then, if they do not approach your own malfeasances. Who is this visitor, that he so neatly manages the balance between youth's limber nature and the inflexibility of age?"

"Why, it would be Hugh Beringar, Sheriff of Shropshire, that I expect upon the hour, and he is as you say, part of the light and part of shade. Not unlike you, who does block the sun but not the wind, and who disturbs my solitude but grants me no assistance!"

At this point, the voice burst forth into a bray of laughter. "Have done, Brother Cadfael! Have done!"

Cadfael smiled as he threw up the last spadeful of dirt. "And I shall, for now I am finished." Turning about, he laid eyes upon the owner of the voice and the worn boots. "Why, Hugh!" He cried out. "I had thought it was another! And here I have had a fire laid and a kettle ready in my workshop for this last hour. Had I heard you approach, we could be warming ourselves with mint and company." Placing the spade to one side, he held out his hand for the other to grasp.

Hugh seized it and with a tug brought Cadfael out of the pit and to level ground. "Is there yet time for tea? Or have you some other errand to pursue?"

"Oh, there is ever time. And you must tell me of this matter in town, that you have sent me word of, for I have given it thought, and can not tell you how a green bough, a woman's scarf, and a torn parchment are in the least connected." So saying, Cadfael dusted his hands and led the way along the path back to the little workshop, where, true to his word, a trickle of smoke rose from the chimney, promising a touch of warmth to gardener and guest alike.

 


End file.
